


Protection

by WDHawthorne



Category: Smallville
Genre: Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-13
Updated: 2004-04-13
Packaged: 2017-11-01 05:05:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/352250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WDHawthorne/pseuds/WDHawthorne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the episode "Zero", Lex tells Clark he would do anything to protect his friends.  Can Clark accept what Lex is willing to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protection

## Protection

by WD Hawthorne

[]()

* * *

Disclaimers and Not4es: Th characters of Smallville don't belong to me, but they do inspire my imagination. _Thank you to Cpher42 and MiCrazy2 for all the support, and just for being such good friends_! 

* * *

Pete looked down at the typed transcript the detective pushed at him from across the table. It was astonishing to see his version of the whole incident reduced to just a few thin sheets of paper. It seemed all out of proportion. This was _big_. This was bigger than anything he'd ever been involved in before. 

His mother leaned close to him and spoke quietly in his ear. He was glad she was there. Having a judge for a Mom sure came in handy at times like these. And having his Mom here also gave him a certain amount of comfort in a way that only a mother could. As long as she was here beside him, looking out for him, he'd get through this without totally freaking out. 

"Peter, I want you to take your time and read this over very carefully," she murmured softly. "It's just everything you said in your statement all typed out. I want you to make sure that if you remember anything else, or remember that something happened differently, or in a different sequence, that you let us know. We can take as long as we need and make as many changes as you like. But before you sign this, you need to know it has to be _exactly_ how you remember it." 

Pete sighed and began to read, unaware of the nervous tapping of his own fingers on the worn wooden table in the interrogation room of the Smallville police station. It was bad enough the first time as he told his story to the police officers who'd first arrived at the scene. And then he'd repeated the whole thing to the detectives when they'd come to investigate. Then he had to come into the station and recount the whole incident again into a tape recorder while another detective and the sheriff listened and asked their questions. Now as he read his statement, he was going to have to relive it all still one more time. 

And yet, no matter how many times he told the story, no matter how many times he might try to give an account of what had happened that afternoon, his words, whether spoken or written, would never really be able to accurately describe the horror he'd felt, or how helpless he'd felt, or how quickly things had escalated into tragedy. The words on paper described the events as if they'd happened in a vacuum. Sanitized. Simplified. While the story was factually correct, it was wrong. 

All wrong. 

Even though his written statement told how he and Clark had stopped at the Luthor mansion for what was supposed to have been a short errand to return a borrowed video game, it didn't capture how things had started with that secure, all-is-right-with-the-world feeling of a lazy winter Saturday afternoon, or how relaxed Pete had felt playing video games most of the day with his best friend, or how good it felt to be making that happy connection again with Clark, how it had felt like when they were just carefree, dumb kids, before all the problems of young adulthood had set in. 

The simple words on paper didn't reveal how sick it made Pete feel when he remembered how quickly things went horribly, horribly wrong. The neat, type-written words were facts without any substance. The substance was collected in a tight, acidic knot in the middle of Pete's gut, and he didn't know if it would ever go away, no matter how many times he threw up. 

Lionel Luthor was dead. His body, as far as Pete knew, was still awkwardly sprawled on the floor back at the Luthor mansion. Half of his skull had shattered into small, broken fragments that clung grotesquely to the front of the fireplace in the library, and bits of his hair and blood and brain matter had splattered everywhere over that side of the room. Clark's blue jacket was unquestionably ruined. Laundry soap would never fix that kind of stain. Pete's clothes, as far as he could tell, were untouched, but he knew he would throw them away anyway when he got home. 

He'd always hated Lionel Luthor, and knew that he would have never mourned the old snake's death, but Pete would have never imagined that he'd have such an intimate experience of the occasion. 

It had all been so casual, so comfortable. None of that was captured in the report. Lex had invited them to stay for a couple impromptu games of pool, and Pete remembered how pleased Lex had looked when Clark and Pete had accepted. It had been fun, surprisingly fun, and Clark had seemed so content to have his two best friends finally make an attempt to get along. 

But then in the space of two minutes, maybe three at most, everything went to hell. 

Pete hadn't even noticed when Lionel entered the room, but before he could even fully grasp what was happening, Lionel had burst in between the boys and held a handgun aimed directly at Clark's heart, just a couple feet away. Pete didn't know what kind of gun it was, so he merely described it in his statement. It was a big gun, not like in the Westerns, but big like in the Dirty Harry movies, yet not quite like Harry's, but cold and darkly metallic, and which would no doubt shoot big bullets. All Pete knew for sure was that he was so suddenly scared shitless that he could scarcely think. 

It took a few moments to remember that Clark was not really in any danger, but Pete hadn't added that to the report. Pete almost, _almost_ , relaxed, realizing that Clark wouldn't let Lionel hurt anybody. All he'd have to do was to get close enough to snatch the gun from Lionel's bony fingers. And even if Lionel did shoot, the worst that would happen would be a bruise or two to Clark's ribs. The hard part would just be explaining it. But they'd think of something. They always did... 

Of course, Lex didn't know that. In a matter of only a few seconds, Lex had retrieved a small handgun from...Pete didn't know where Lex had gotten it, only that as he stood there, frozen in his spot, there were suddenly two handguns being brandished within a few yards from him. Lex waved the little gun at his father, warning him, his pale hand clearly trembling. 

Lionel was raving. It wasn't like he was screaming like a lunatic, but he was agitated and sweating, and his voice shook. He was vastly different from the controlled, calculating man he usually was. Pete quoted what he could remember for his official statement, and he knew it would be obvious to anyone reading the report that Lionel had gone completely bonkers. Crazier even than when Lex had lost it. Somebody might even suppose that mental illness might be a genetic trait for the Luthors. Clearly Lionel had to be insane to say the things he said that afternoon. 

Except that Pete knew that was not completely the truth. Lionel's ranting was rooted in more reality than Pete wanted to think about. 

Lionel somehow _knew_ that Clark was alien. That Clark had come in the meteor shower from another planet. That Clark had special abilities-that he was impossibly strong, and fast, and could burn things with his eyes. To anyone else, that would have sounded crazy, but Pete knew better. 

Then he began accusing Clark of working together with Lex to overthrow Lionel as head of Luthorcorp. He said that the symbols in the caves predicted that Clark would someday rule the world, and that with Clark's abilities and Lex's wealth and power, the two of them could bring the planet to its knees. 

Apparently Lionel and his gun were there to make sure that didn't happen. Although Pete wasn't so sure Lionel's warped motives were quite so altruistic as saving the world-he thought perhaps Lionel was just angered that they hadn't invited him in on this supposed plot. 

The more Lionel talked, the more agitated he became, and as his voice rose, Lex's frantic warnings got louder too. It seemed that Lionel had his heart set on shooting Clark, and was desperately trying to convince Lex that it was the right thing to do. To save the world, to save his son, to save his own scrawny ass... 

Or maybe he just wanted to prove to Lex that he was right, that Clark couldn't be hurt by mere bullets. 

As Lionel's ravings escalated, Lex changed tactics suddenly and tried to pacify his father. He agreed that there was something different about Clark, and that Clark had always piqued his own curiosity too. He admitted he'd done some investigating of his own, and that while Clark sometimes seemed to do impossible things and was somewhat of an enigma, Lex didn't think that Clark would follow the destiny of the cave writings. He also said that he was perfectly capable of wresting control of Luthorcorp from Lionel all on his own, and wouldn't need Clark's help for that. 

But Lionel wouldn't be placated. He waggled his gun at Clark and tensed his finger over the trigger, still desperately trying to convince Lex, his voice growing louder and more shrill with each word. Lex responded with more warnings, each warning more intense and anxious. 

"Don't, Dad! He's my friend!" 

"Lex, you're too soft! You've let yourself develop too much affection for this boy. He's not your friend. He's only using you to get to the top! He's not human! It's not like killing a human!" 

"Dad! Put the gun _down_! _Now_!" 

"I know you know it too! Otherwise you wouldn't have been researching him too. You've found out the same things I have! I know you have!" 

"Put the gun down! Dad, I'm warning you!" 

"I can't let him! I can't let him do it! Your misguided affection has made you blind to the danger! He'll take over _everything_!" 

"Dad! Put the gun _down_!" 

In mere seconds, as their voices crescendoed, the point of no return was reached. Lionel's finger tightened one last time on the trigger. Pete flinched as he heard the gunshot, and hoped that the bullet wouldn't ricochet off Clark and into him, and fleetingly cringed at the thought of how they were going to account for this to Lionel and Lex... 

But Lionel's head exploded before Pete's eyes, and his lifeless body fell with a sickening thud to the polished marble floor. 

The gun was still aimed toward where Lionel had stood a moment earlier, Lex's hand trembling violently. Lex slowly slid his eyes down to take in the crumpled form on the floor, his upper lip curling up in revulsion at the sight. 

Pete looked down at the body too, and felt the same horror, becoming almost transfixed by the gore. 

Immediately, Lex's security guards were bursting into the room, the commotion of their noisy entrance jolting Pete back to reality. He suddenly realized that the security guards' weapons were trained unwaveringly on him and Clark. 

Lex ordered his men to stand down, and then instructed them to call the sheriff and the coroner. Then he told them to retrieve the tapes from the security cameras and have them available for the sheriff, and to cooperate fully with the investigation. 

Then, almost as an afterthought, he finally lowered his gun, setting it quietly on the corner of the pool table. He glanced at Pete, and then looked to Clark. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his face pure white. Quietly he turned away, and left the room. 

* * *

Pete sighed as he finished reading his account of the incident. It was exactly as he remembered it. On the outside. Everything that was said, every move they made...it was all a faithful recollection of what happened. As far as it went. But it missed those intangible things that Pete would remember forever-the vivid memory of the roar of the gunshot coupled with the instantanteous sound of Lionel's brains spraying like rain across the room; the gory sight of Lionel's brains and skull splattered against the fine furnishings; how Clark had paled and nearly passed out in shock before he could get his stained jacket off; the stench of the puddle of vomit that Lex had left behind in the hallway outside the room. 

He rechecked his story again, knowing his mother would be pleased that he was being so careful, even though she didn't truly understand why he was taking such pains to make sure this was right. He made sure there was nothing in there that would actually give Clark's secret away. The quotes of a madman couldn't be taken seriously. And Pete never claimed to believe it himself, and Clark had never admitted or denied anything while confronted with Lionel's gun. 

He decided at last that his statement didn't need any changes. He looked at his mom and picked up the ballpoint pen the detective offered, and signed his name. 

As if that would be the end of it, Pete reflected cynically, and handed the pen back to the detective. 

There was a quick rap on the door, and the sheriff entered, followed by a man in a suit who gave a nod of acknowledgement to Pete's mother. Pete realized that they must have been looking through the mirrored glass on the side of the room, waiting for them to finish. 

"You're free to go, Peter," the man nodded toward him as he glanced over the signed affidavit, checking for any changes Pete might have made. "Judge Ross, I think we're done here. Everything here corroborates the statements of Mr. Kent and Mr. Luthor, and I believe everything in the security tapes pretty much shows the same story." 

"Will there be an inquest?" 

The man shrugged. "This looks pretty cut and dry, but...with a man worth as much money as Lionel Luthor...probably. But that'll be up to the DA, depending on if the tapes or the coroner turn up anything suspicious. I wouldn't worry though. Your son shouldn't have any legal problems here." 

"I want Peter to have some counselling." 

"Mommm," Pete whined, mostly because he figured that's what a red-blooded American boy would do; but on the inside he agreed that it might be a good idea. He didn't want to even think about how hard it was going to be to go back to his "regular" life after this. How could he eat, study, go to school, play sports, do his chores....and how could he even contemplate sleeping? 

The man nodded. "I can give you some names." 

"Thank you." Giving Pete a pointed, don't-argue look, his mother then picked up her bag and coat, and handed Pete's jacket to him. "Let's go, Baby. The sooner we get you back home and in comfortable surroundings, the sooner you'll start recovering from all this." 

"If you come back to my office with me, I'll give you some names and phone numbers. Besides," the man added, jerking his head toward the door, "there must be about a hundred reporters out front. Maybe you can slip out the back way before they start setting up camp there too." 

Reporters. Great. Just great. 

Pete followed his mother out the door to the hallway, but excused himself to use the rest room. His mother gave him a worried look, but he reassured her that it was just that the Coke they'd given him earlier to settle his stomach had just gone right through him. While it seemed to satisfy her, all Pete really wanted to do was just get away by himself for a few minutes before having to contend with any nosy reporters-and no doubt Chloe was probably one of them, expecting the inside scoop from him and Clark. 

He stepped inside the restroom door and let the automatic spring pull it shut. Then he closed his eyes and leaned against the wall to the side of the doorway, and sighed tiredly as he let his head rest back against the cool ceramic tile. His head hurt and his stomach was still a bit queasy, and his throat still burned from vomiting earlier. He stepped over to the sink and bent to splash cold water over his face and rinse his mouth once more. 

Behind Pete, a toilet flushed and a stall door opened, and someone stepped out to use the sink next to him. When Pete glanced up, he saw that it was Lex. As Pete grabbed a couple squares of coarse brown paper toweling to dry his face, Lex caught his eye. 

"I'm sorry you had to get mixed up in this," he sighed quietly. 

"It's not your fault," Pete shrugged, not wanting to make this any harder for Lex. He kind of surprised himself that he'd feel this much compassion for a Luthor. 

Lex's mouth quirked slightly at the corner as Lex bent to scrub cold water over his face too. He leaned low under the faucet and for a moment let the water run over his whole head. 

_It_ ' _s_ _not like he has to dry his hair_ , Pete thought, startling himself with the out-of-place, sardonic humor. He offered some paper towels to Lex, as a sort of apology for his inappropriate thoughts. 

Lex dried himself, and then pulled a toothbrush from his shirt pocket. He saw Pete's puzzled look and shrugged. "I asked my lawyer to bring it with my fresh clothes." 

Pete only now realized that Lex had changed into a suit. "Fresh clothes?" he asked, suddenly aghast that Lex would be worried about appropriate clothing under these circumstances. 

Lex gave him a little lop-sided smirk before he stuck his toothbrush in his mouth. "My other clothes made an unfortunate acquaintance with the reappearance of my lunch." 

Pete snorted, vaguely amused but empathetic. At one time, Pete would have paid good money to see Lex Luthor in such a humiliating predicament as having hurled all over himself, but not now, not like this. "Yeah," he agreed sympathetically as Lex scrubbed at his teeth. "My lunch made a couple u-turns too." 

The door creaked behind Pete, and he turned from Lex to see Clark stepping into the room. Clark glanced at them momentarily with a dark expression, and then silently slipped into a toilet stall, closing the door behind himself. Pete noticed that Clark was wearing a plain gray cotton t-shirt with a "Smallville PD" printed across the chest, obviously not the shirt Clark had been wearing earlier. 

"Nice shirt, man," Pete called through the stall door to Clark, looking to say anything to break the uncomfortable silence. "I guess I'm the only one who managed not to hurl on myself, huh?" 

Clark didn't answer until the toilet flushed. "I didn't throw up," he finally said quietly as the stall door opened. "It got... There was..." he shrugged and met Pete's gaze, his eyes looking dark and hollow. "There was stuff on it." 

Pete's stomach nearly did a flip-flop again at the idea. Clark had been so in the wrong place. Pete had seen that his jacket had been ruined, but hadn't realized that his shirt also... He stopped his thought process right there, not wanting to remember any more. It was amazing that Clark hadn't tossed his cookies from that. He'd gotten freaked out and light-headed, but apparently that was all. Must be that alien physiology. 

Clark washed his hands at the same sink Pete had used without so much as a glance at Lex beside him. Lex knotted his necktie and straightened it, but spent more time surreptitiously watching Clark in the mirror than looking at his own reflection. Pete began to feel very uneasy about the growing silence between them. 

Clark rinsed his face and checked his reflection carefully. Pete knew he was checking to see if there was any more "stuff" on him, and felt his stomach gurgle at the idea. Clark's hearing must have picked up on it, because he glanced quickly to Pete and asked "You okay, Pete?" 

Pete shrugged. "Yeah. Still a little queasy, but I'll be fine." 

Clark nodded and finger-combed his hair a little. "Yeah. Me too." 

"Man, I can't wait to just get home," Pete sighed and then grimaced . "Looks like we might have to push through a whole big pack of reporters in order to get out of here, though." 

"Yeah, I heard that too," Clark nodded as he finished checking his reflection. He turned and headed toward the door. "I'll call you tomorrow, Pete." 

Pete stood for a moment and gaped, then suddenly called out, "Clark!", before his friend could pull open the door and escape. It was just too weird that Clark had come in, used the bathroom, the sink, and the mirror, conversed with Pete, and never once spoke or even acknowledged that Lex was in the room with them. What was up with that? Surely Clark couldn't be blaming Lex for his crazy father. Clark had always been so careful not to blame Lex for his father's sins before. 

His hand on the door handle, Clark turned and looked at Pete guardedly, carefully angling his field of vision to not include Lex. 

Pete glanced to Lex, to see how he was reacting, but Lex was carefully, studiously adjusting his cuffs, his air of nonchalance so forced it was almost laughable. 

"Clark...," Pete started, not sure how to really say what he wanted to ask. "You sure you're all right?" 

"I'm...I'll be fine, Pete." Clark's voice was subdued but adamant. His features were set, tense, like the way he always got when somebody was messing with him, and he wished he could just haul off and slug them without worrying about fragile human bones. 

"But, you're not... You haven't..." Pete stuttered, a little intimidated by Clark's flinty gaze. 

"Clark, if you have a problem with me, we'd better talk about it now," Lex finally spoke up. "I'm sure my lawyers will recommend that I take some time away from the mansion, and I don't know if we'll get the chance again for a while." 

Lex was trying hard to sound confident, but it wasn't quite coming off. His voice had a little too much tremor. 

Clark surprised Pete by giving Lex a cold, hard glare, and then jerked open the door and stepped out. 

"Clark...,"Lex whispered, then just stared after him, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed dryly. If it was possible, he may have gotten even paler than he was before. But then he noticed Pete staring at him and he put himself back together, turning back to the mirror and needlessly adjusting his collar and tie once again. 

Pete was almost ready to apologize to Lex for Clark's odd and rude behavior when suddenly the door opened again and Clark came back in. Apparently he'd had second thoughts about leaving the way he did. 

For a long moment, he just stared at Lex with a horrified expression, breathing deeply as if he'd just been running. 

"My God, Lex," he finally sighed. "What have you done?" 

Pete couldn't believe his ears. "Clark!" 

Clark only diverted his gaze to Pete for a moment, then stared at Lex again, his expression grave. 

Lex took a step toward Clark, his palms turned up at his sides, unconsciously attempting to reassure. "It happened so fast. I didn't have a choice. I told you I'd do anything to protect my friends." 

"Protect me," Clark repeated scornfully, his disbelief evident. His eyebrow arched, and for a moment he looked exactly like Jonathan as he accused, "Your father said you've been investigating me again." 

Lex took another small step forward, and didn't flinch at all. "Yes," he admittedly calmly, meeting Clark's gaze almost defiantly. 

"Even after you told me you'd stopped." 

Lex sighed, and his shoulders drooped a little, but he didn't back down. His voice was quiet but persistent. "I did stop. But I had to start again when I realized he was doing his own investigating. I had to protect you." 

"You kept prying into my personal life behind my back? You call that protecting me?" Clark's voice was quietly livid, and he took a step toward Lex, threatening his personal space. "Exactly what did you think you were protecting me from?" 

"From _him_ ," Lex reached out and placed his palms on Clark's shoulders, skimming them over the thin t-shirt in an attempt to calm Clark's temper. "I had to do it to keep a step ahead of him, try to throw him off the track, don't you see?" Suddenly Pete thought Lex sounded almost pleading. Lex slid his fingers across Clark's broad shoulders again. "If he found out first, I might not be there to protect you when he made his move." 

"But he beat you to it, so you killed him." Clark grabbed Lex's hands and pushed them away. 

Lex backed up a step, his pride wounded. "You're such an innocent, Clark," he stated condescendingly, turning the hurt into anger. "You've grown a lot since we met, but you'll always be nave in ways you can't even imagine." He raised his chin defiantly. "He _didn_ ' _t_ beat me... to _anything_." 

Pete could only stare as Clark and Lex simply faced off against each other, neither one speaking or reacting. He heard only his own gasp as he suddenly realized what Lex was telling Clark. "You _know_?!" 

They just stared at each other, Clark stiff and angry, Lex cool and insolent. Pete couldn't quite believe it-neither of them had yet said anything specific, yet it seemed- 

"Clark-" Pete interrupted the cool silence. "Is this really a good place to discuss this?" He waggled his finger around, indicating the room. Could a small-town police station have security monitoring devices in the men's room? 

With his eyes narrowed, Clark's gaze slowly circled the room. "It's clean," Clark assured him. 

Lex's eyes darted back and forth between them, and Pete saw that Lex was now realizing that Pete also knew Clark's secret. A small flicker of disappointment clouded Lex's eyes, just for a moment, and then he turned his attention back to Clark. He stepped forward again, until he was toe-to-toe with Clark, and placed his hand on Clark's forearm. 

"Don't you see?" Lex asked, his voice softer now, earnest. "Once I knew what you could do, where you were from...You needed me to protect you from him. I know him, I know how to handle him. He would have _forced_ you to do things for him. Things you wouldn't want to do, but wouldn't have any other choice. It's what my father does best-," his voice cut off abruptly and Lex dropped his eyes for a moment and swallowed thickly. " _Did_ best." 

Clark didn't answer, and made no move except a slight flare of his nostrils as the fingers of Lex's other hand reached up to card gently through Clark's dark hair. "I had to protect you Clark, don't you see? I did it for you. I did it all for you." 

As he finished speaking Pete winced as Lex's voice crackled like paper, slowly overcome by the strain and emotion of the day. 

Pete saw Clark waver. He blinked, and his expression softened just a trace. He lifted his hand as if he wanted to touch Lex the way Lex touched Clark, but then refrained. Finally, he just pleaded, "Why did you have to kill him to protect me?" 

Lex's mouth turned up at the corners just ever so slightly, just for a moment, in a hopeful, rueful grin. "You're my best friend, Clark. You're the only real friend I've ever had. I couldn't let anything happen to you. I love you." Lex emphasized the sentiment by leaning up to softly peck Clark's cheek. 

Clark swallowed dryly and gazed into Lex's eyes. Pete thought that both of them looked absolutely terrified. 

Clark opened his mouth as if to say something, but, after a long hesitation, all he said was "No." He stepped back away from Lex, forcing Lex to break contact, shaking his head slowly. 

Lex stepped forward, trapping Clark against the unyielding tiled wall, and dropped any pretense of dignity as he begged, "I had to do it, Clark. I had no choice. I love you. He would have hurt you." He reached for Clark again, and his fingers grabbed desperate handholds in Clark's borrowed t-shirt. "Don't you see that, Clark? I love you. _I love you_." 

He then pulled Clark into a kiss, right on the mouth-a searingly brutal, desperate kiss, invading Clark's mouth with his tongue, and finishing with a soft, anguished whimper. 

Pete held his breath and hoped that Clark wouldn't crush Lex like brittle autumn leaves. Even though he'd once felt intense jealousy at Clark's friendship with Lex, he now felt sorry for the guy and hated to see him like this. Pete knew a thing or two about unrequited love. The whole gay thing didn't bug Pete nearly so much as watching a proud man beg like that. 

" _Please_ , Clark," Lex implored, his eyes glistening and anxious. " _Please_." 

"No," Clark whispered, his voice thick. He put his hand out on Lex's chest to stop him from leaning up for another kiss, and pushed back firmly, the force of his abnormal strength knocking Lex off balance for a moment. "No!" 

And in that small moment while Lex regained his balance, Clark moved with alien speed out the door, leaving behind a gust of wind and a creaking hinge as the door slowly swung shut. 

Pete swallowed and tried to think of something to say to Lex. Lex was staring at the closed door, his adam's apple bobbing and his eyes brimming. Pete didn't think he could stand to see this guy cry, not after everything that had happened that day. 

He cleared his throat and mumbled something optimistic. "You need to give him some time, Lex." 

Lex just made a choking sound in his throat, the same kind of sound a person makes when they're trying hard not to laugh... but laughter wasn't the case here. 

"He just needs some time to think things through," Pete tried again. "Clark just needs to get his feet on solid ground for a while and let things settle out." 

Lex cleared his throat and scrubbed a hand over his cheek. He squared his shoulders and steadied his trembling bottom lip. He was desperately trying to reassemble his lost dignity. "Look, Ross, I appreciate what you're trying to say here, but... I think I'd really just like to be left alone." 

Pete nodded. He could understand that. No guy ever wanted to lose it in front of another guy. Didn't have anything to do with being gay or bi or straight, but had everything to do with pride and self-respect. Leaving Lex now would also give Pete a chance to try to catch Clark before he left with his parents. 

"Yeah. Sure. You gonna be okay?" 

The corner of Lex's mouth twitched ruefully. "Okay is a relative term, but yes, I'll be okay." 

Pete nodded again and left the room. As he stood on the other side of the door and took a deep, calming breath, he could hear Lex begin to sob behind him as soon as the door swung all the way shut. He listened for a moment to the broken weeping with a heavy, sick feeling in his gut, tempted to go back in. He wasn't sure if it was more humane to allow Lex his privacy or to go back in and somehow muddle through some kind of comfort for the guy. 

He saw his mother down the hallway, talking with that suit-guy and Mr. and Mrs. Kent. Clark was waiting a few feet away from them, looking sullen, just near the outside exit to the back of the station. 

Making up his mind, Pete strode over to Clark and grabbed his shoulder, whirling him around so they could speak privately. 

"How could you do that to him?! Are you that much of a homophobe that you had to cut him off at the knees like that?" 

Clark's eyes flared anger, enough to make Pete suddenly remember that Clark could scorch him where he stood. But then he seemed to contain himself and just shook his head sadly. "I'm not a homophobe, Pete," he sighed. "But you just don't get it, do you?" 

Pete didn't like the way Clark made it sound like he was stupid. "What's not to get? He had to kill his crazy old man to protect a friend he loves. How can you turn your back on him like this?" 

"Pete," Clark lowered his voice and leaned in closer to make sure Pete would hear him. "You don't get it. He didn't _have_ to protect me from his father. He _knew_. He _knew_ his father couldn't hurt me, but he killed him anyway." 

Pete's heart dropped into his stomach as he finally understood the implication. He gazed up into Clark's eyes and finally recognized the haunted look that had been there ever since the shooting. 

"Peter, are you ready to go home now?" His mother's voice broke into his thoughts as he heard her approach. 

He tore his gaze away from Clark, swallowed a dry lump in his throat, and nodded to his mom. "Yeah. Let's go home. This has been one fucking shitty day." 

In deference to the fucking shitty day it had really been, his mother never bothered to admonish him on his language. 

But all the way home, all he could hear in his mind was the replay of Lex Luthor's heart-broken sobs echoing in the men's room of the Smallville police station. 


End file.
